


Falling For You

by silver_etoile



Category: SKAM (Netherlands), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Football | Soccer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Robbe only knows one thing about football: that Sander Dreisen is the hottest player on the FC Utrecht team. When Jens drags him to a match, the last thing Robbe expects is to meet someone so perfect, and it's all he can do not to mess it up, but will he succeed?
Relationships: Jens Stoffels/Lucas van der Heijden, Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 14
Kudos: 245





	Falling For You

Robbe wasn’t even sure they were allowed to be down here as he followed Jens down the dimly-lit corridor, the walls hung with red and white flags.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asked, hurrying to join Jens as they reached a door and Jens stopped.

Jens rolled his eyes. “You worry too much. It’s fine.”

Robbe wasn’t so sure about that as he glanced around at the empty hallway, the double doors at the end. He hadn’t even know this was here, but he supposed, he didn’t really know anything about football in general. What was he supposed to know about the stadium they played in?

“I can’t believe you dragged me down here to watch a football match just because your new boyfriend works for the team.”

“First of all,” Jens said, turning from where he’d been contemplating the door, as if debating if he could just walk in or not, “Luc and I are not boyfriends. It’s only been two weeks. I don’t declare my love for someone after one date like you.” Robbe couldn’t help but scowl at that. So he’d made some mistakes with guys in the past—that didn’t mean it was wrong to tell someone about your feelings. “And secondly, you know you liked watching those hot guys getting all sweaty and hanging off each other. Don’t deny it.”

Robbe shot Jens a look, but he didn’t get the chance to argue the point (was there really anything to argue?) as the door swung open and he jumped back, startled.

Two guys emerged, laughing at something, but the shorter one stopped as he caught sight of Jens, a smile breaking over his face.

“Jens,” he said easily, and Robbe watched as Jens grinned in return. This must have been the infamous Lucas.

Infamous might have been an overstatement, but Robbe had certainly heard enough about the physical therapist Jens had met at some club—how gorgeous he was, how smart and funny and hot.

Robbe had to give Jens that. Lucas was good-looking with bright blue eyes, light brown curls artfully messy over his forehead, a mole on his lip that stretched as he smiled.

Even better looking, though, was the guy next to Lucas, and Robbe had to stop himself from staring as the guy’s eyes landed on him instead of Jens.

He was tall, lean, definitely one of the footballers. His bleached hair was cut short, still damp from the shower, and he seemed to smile as Robbe looked away.

“Hey,” Jens greeted Lucas. “Funny meeting you here.”

Lucas snorted, rolling his eyes. “What a coincidence.”

Robbe glanced at Jens, the grin on his face, almost dopey. Not boyfriends, his ass.

Jens finally seemed to notice Robbe standing awkwardly beside him, avoiding the gaze of the footballer that seemed to shoot straight through him, piercing blue eyes grazing down his face as he felt his heart speed up for no reason.

“This is my friend, Robbe,” Jens said, nodding at Robbe. “This is Lucas.”

“I figured that out,” Robbe said as Lucas glanced at him, an easy smile on his face.

“Been telling your friends about me?” Lucas asked, a tease to his voice that Jens shook his head at.

“Just in passing.”

Robbe couldn’t help snorting at that, catching everyone’s attention this time. Despite himself, he felt the flush creep up on his cheeks, embarrassed. Unlike Jens, he didn’t like being the center of attention, especially not when a ridiculously hot guy was sizing him up.

“Oh,” Lucas said after a second when the guy next to him cleared his throat. “This is Sander. He’s on the team. One of my least accident-prone and therefore my favorite.”

“You’re not supposed to have favorites,” Sander pointed out as Lucas shrugged.

“Well, I do, and you’re it.”

Sander laughed, eyes crinkling, and Robbe couldn’t help staring this time. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen hot guys before. Hell, he’d even seen other footballers before—well, from a distance anyway—but none had stricken him dumb like Sander did.

“Did you watch the match?” Sander asked Robbe after a second, and Robbe opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him as he struggled to find words, to answer the simple question.

“Yeah, we did,” Jens jumped in when Robbe stood frozen, casting around his empty brain for anything to say. “You guys played well today.”

“Yeah, good,” Robbe echoed, immediately grimacing to himself. What the fuck was he supposed to say? He probably looked a like a complete idiot in front of Sander. Cool, athletic, probably had tons of fans throwing themselves at him, Sander.

He probably wasn’t even gay. Most footballers weren’t. Robbe may not have known much about sports, but he knew that.

Lucas glanced between Robbe and Sander before turning to Jens. “Did you come by just to shower praise on the players?”

“Of course not,” Jens assured him. “Autographs too.”

Lucas shoved Jens’ shoulder playfully in response. “Asshole.”

Sander wasn’t watching Lucas and Jens when Robbe glanced at him, a hand curling around the strap of his bag on his shoulder, a slight smile as Robbe met his gaze. A ripple crawled up Robbe’s spine and he looked away quickly.

“Thought you might be hungry after the grueling hours massaging football player’s asses,” Jens said instead, reaching out for Lucas’ shirt and tugging him closer. “Maybe later you’d want to do mine instead.”

Robbe made a face. He certainly didn’t need to hear about Jens’ sex life—not that that ever stopped Jens from telling him. He’d let Jens drag him down here to meet Lucas, but he hadn’t agreed to stay for this.

Robbe didn’t begrudge Jens for finally finding someone, even if Jens so far denied that Lucas was anyone important, but he couldn’t help feeling sad as he watched Jens murmur something in Lucas’ ear he couldn’t hear. It had been months since Robbe had dated anyone, longer than that that he’d had an actual relationship.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. His friends called him picky, but Robbe thought it was more than that. The guys he dated didn’t tend to stick around, and it wasn’t his fault that he’d told the last one he loved them after just a week. In retrospect, it might have been too soon and exactly the reason Derrick had ghosted him immediately after.

Lucas pulled back from Jens, glancing at Sander behind him.

“Sander, I know we had plans—”

Sander held up a hand to stop him. “Go. Enjoy yourself.”

Lucas beamed as Jens slid an arm over his shoulder.

“Robbe, you coming?” Jens asked as he turned, and Robbe jerked out of his own thoughts as he met Sander’s gaze, an intensity that made him nervous somehow.

“Yeah,” he mumbled after a second. “It was-it was nice to meet you, Sander.”

“Likewise,” Sander said, biting his lip gently as Robbe took a stuttering step backward, as though his brain had lost all connection with the rest of his body.

“Bye,” he muttered finally, turning to follow Jens and Lucas, and determinedly not looking back to check if Sander was still there.

*

Admittedly, Robbe didn’t have any idea what YC or RC meant as he scrolled down the webpage on his computer, scanning through the names of players on the list for UC Utrecht, his heart catching as his eyes landed on the name Sander Driesen.

He didn’t even glance over his computer to check if anyone was around in the office as he clicked on the name and a photo of Sander popped up, professionally-taken, him in his uniform, a ball casually trapped between his wrist and hip, hair artfully messed, eyes intense even through the lens.

It took Robbe a moment to scroll down, lingering on the photo, to the stats below. He couldn’t say he understood much, but there was Sander’s birthday, that he’d come to Utrecht from Royal Antwerp FC, and that he was a Striker, whatever that was. Chewing on his lip, he scrolled back up to the photo.

It wasn’t just that Sander was good-looking, Robbe thought as he stared at the picture. Or maybe it was. After all, he didn’t know Sander. He’d met him once, for five minutes. That shouldn’t have led to stalking on the internet.

“That doesn’t look like the layout for the Belaire Diamond account.”

Robbe jumped at Engel’s voice behind him, swiveling around in his chair to face her knowing expression.

“Unless we got a new account I wasn’t aware of?”

“No,” Robbe said quickly, clicking out of the window and bringing InDesign back up, the advertisement he’d been working on when he’d gotten distracted by think about Sander still on the screen.

Engel arched a perfectly-manicured eyebrow as Robbe turned back to her, reaching for the empty mug on the corner of his desk. He frowned at the last remnants of coffee at the bottom.

“Liv needs the final version by the end of the day,” she said, tucking her pin-straight blond hair behind her ear, seemingly not commenting on the fact that Robbe had been staring at a hot football player instead of doing his work.

“Not a problem,” Robbe said, rising from his chair and heading across the open office for the kitchen along the back wall. He wasn’t surprised when Engel followed him, around the clusters of desks, people working dutifully on copy and ads, the constant ringing of telephones, pings of text messages in the background.

“So who is he?” she asked as they reached the counter and Robbe rummaged in the fridge for the milk.

“Who?”

“The guy that was not a diamond ad,” she said, and he could practically hear her eye-roll as he grabbed the carton out of the fridge door.

“Just some football player,” he said with a shrug, pouring a new cup of coffee. That was all Sander was. Some football player.

He wasn’t a guy Robbe had met at the grocery store over cucumbers or some guy from accounting that Zoe had insisted was perfect for him—Robbe didn’t even remember his name. That was how badly that date had gone.

“Why were you looking up some football player?” Engel asked, watching Robbe pour the milk into his coffee until it was more milk than coffee.

Robbe didn’t really have an answer for that as he frowned at the mug. He couldn’t explain the sudden urge he had to learn everything he could about Sander, even if the chances of seeing him again were incredibly slim.

Engel raised an eyebrow when he didn’t respond. “Okay, don’t tell me. But at least wait until the ad is done before spending more time staring at him.”

Robbe opened his mouth to argue that he hadn’t been staring, but Engel was already walking away, back to her desk on the other side of the room. Sighing, he turned to his coffee. She was right, after all. He needed to get back to work and stop stalking Sander online.

*

Lifting the edge of the croque with a spatula, Robbe examined the golden brown crust of the bread before flipping it over, a satisfying sizzle rising from the pan. He’d already changed out of his work clothes, into sweatpants and a tee shirt that was at least a size too big, probably left by some ex-boyfriend of Jens’. Certainly not one of Robbe’s. They never seemed to last long enough to leave clothes around the apartment.

He looked up as Jens wandered in to the kitchen, typing something on his phone.

“Luc’s coming over,” he said as Robbe switched off the burner and slid the croque onto a plate.

“When?” he asked, and Jens shrugged.

“Now. He’s almost here.”

Robbe stared. “Were you planning on telling me that?”

Jens shook his head. “Just did.”

“You could have told me that before I changed into this.” He gestured obviously at his clothes. “I had plans, you know.”

Jens laughed, ruffling Robbe’s hair, and Robbe swatted him away. “Plans to stuff your face with cheese and bread and watch a sad period movie? You seriously need a new weekend routine.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to do,” Robbe muttered, even as Jens arched a skeptical eyebrow, tucking his phone in his pocket as a knock came on the door.

“Sorry, you were just going to rewatch a TV show you’ve seen a hundred times,” Jens said instead, far too smug as he turned from the kitchen and headed for the front door.

Robbe heard Lucas greeting Jens as he set the dirty pan in the sink, on top of the pile of dishes Jens was supposed to have washed yesterday.

“Hey, Robbe.” Lucas appeared in the doorway, flashing him an easy smile. “Jens says you don’t have any plans tonight. You could come with us to the bar.”

“No,” Robbe said slowly, taking a second to shoot Jens a look as he joined Lucas in the doorway, an arm comfortable over his shoulders. “Thanks, but I was just gonna stay in.”

He didn’t need to be a third wheel, even if Jens was his best friend. That was a little too pathetic, even for him.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Jens said, shooting Robbe a look in return. “You can stay home any time.”

That wasn’t really the point, Robbe thought as he watched the way Jens’ fingers curled around the back of Lucas’ neck, so comfortable, so intimate. How had Jens managed to find someone before him?

“Some of my friends are going to be there,” Lucas said easily. “Some guys from the team. Sander.”

Robbe hated that his ears perked up at Sander’s name. Instead of saying yes, though, he glanced up at Lucas. “They’re okay with you…”

“Being gay?” Lucas finished knowingly, shrugging. “Yeah. They’re cool.”

“Just come with us,” Jens said, annoyingly. “Change into something clean and let’s go.”

“These are clean,” Robbe muttered, but he didn’t really have a leg to stand on with both Lucas and Jens watching him. He sighed. “Fine. Just give me a minute.”

Shoving the croque in the fridge, Robbe slipped past Jens and Lucas and headed for his room.

“See? I told you he can’t say no to me,” he heard Jens boast, and he rolled his eyes as the door shut behind him.

*

The tag on his shirt itched the back of his neck, and Robbe couldn’t help squirming as he reached for it, shoving it under the collar, trying not to be nervous as he followed Jens and Lucas inside the bar. He’d never been to this particular place with its crowded tables, some song from the nineties playing over the din of people talking, lights orangey-yellow on the walls, which Jens wouldn’t have said was unusual. Even though they’d lived in Utrecht two years already, Robbe had mostly only been to the same places.

It wasn’t that Robbe wasn’t adventurous. After all, he’d moved to an entirely new city after university, leaving behind everything he’d ever known in Antwerp. He supposed he’d been lucky that Jens had come with him, though he wasn’t really counting himself lucky at the moment as Jens ushered him along.

“Try to have a good time,” he told him, and Robbe didn’t bother replying, too distracted by the table Lucas was waving at across the room.

There was Sander, already nursing a beer, smiling at something one of the other guys at the table said. He turned his smile to Robbe as they approached, looking both surprised and pleased at his appearance.

“Hey, guys,” Lucas greeted them as he slid onto a stool and Jens took the one beside him. Robbe was left with the stool next to Sander, and he climbed on tentatively, heart beating in his throat as Sander grinned at him. “This is Jens and Robbe. And this is Kes, Jayden, Kelian, and you’ve met Sander.”

Robbe nodded at the other guys as Lucas introduced them, but he was more distracted by the way Sander leaned into him.

“Jens meeting the friends,” he muttered in Robbe’s ear. “Must be getting serious.”

“I… I don’t know,” Robbe admitted, taking a breath and turning to face Sander. Up close, he was even prettier, Robbe caught himself thinking, an amused smile at the edge of his lips at Robbe’s answer. Robbe hadn’t really asked Jens about Lucas in the few weeks they’d been seeing each other, and he supposed as he watched the way Jens seemed to charm his friends, maybe he should have.

“You’re not all on the team,” Jens asked the guys, and Lucas shook his head.

“Just Sander and Kelian. Jayden is way too uncoordinated for football.”

“Fuck you,” the guy with the earring said from behind his beer.

“And Kes is too smart,” Lucas went on, ignoring him.

“Was that an insult?” Kelian asked across the table, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing taut forearms and a tattoo of a very large owl on his dark skin.

“It’s a compliment,” Sander assured Kelian as the guy with dark hair, Kes, smirked at both of them. “Who would want to spend all day staring at numbers?”

“Those numbers keep your salaries so high,” Kes said smugly, and Sander shrugged.

“Please tell me you don’t stare at numbers too,” Sander said to Robbe, who blinked, taken aback at being addressed again.

“No, I mostly look at ad layouts,” he said. “Digital design stuff.”

“So you’re creative?” Sander asked interestedly. “I could tell.”

“You could?” Robbe asked, surprised, not paying any attention to the other conversation going on at the table, how Jens had his hand around Lucas’ waist, perhaps a little too tight.

“It’s something about the hair,” Sander said with a smile, reaching out to pluck at a messy lock. Robbe had been meaning to get it cut lately, but he just hadn’t found the time. It was growing past his ears again, but he was grateful for it as Sander let go. “I’ve always said, if I wasn’t so good at football, I would’ve been a photographer.”

“Really?” Robbe asked, as though he hadn’t looked up Sander’s Instagram the other day, scrolled through the endless photos—some professional photos of him, others clearly artistic shots of nature, architecture, aesthetic selfies that were nothing like the usual celebrity staged pictures.

Sander grinned. “You don’t think I could?”

“Not at all,” Robbe said quickly, shaking his head. “I mean, you could. Definitely.”

Robbe was relieved when Sander laughed, a twinge in his chest. Glancing around the table, nobody seemed to be listening to them, laughing at something Jayden said instead. He wasn’t sure why he was glad no one was paying attention as he glanced back at Sander, the way Sander watched him intently.

“I should probably stick with football,” Sander said. “After all, it pays the bills. And I get to meet all sorts of interesting people.”

Robbe could only nod as he reached for the drink the server set in front of him and took a gulp. Sander couldn’t have meant him, he thought, but as he looked up, meeting Sander’s smile, he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t.

*

Robbe looked away from the corner Jens had dragged Lucas off to after most of the guys had left, the laughter between kisses, words murmured that no one else could hear, how Lucas’ hands came to rest on his chest, curling into his shirt as Jens leaned into his ear. Robbe wasn’t sure why he was still there, although it might have had something to do with Sander at his elbow as he turned to the bar.

Sander hadn’t left with the other guys, seemingly interested in what Robbe had been trying to explain about the differences between RGB and CMYK color and why it mattered despite what the clients thought. Most guys would have run from that explanation, but Sander had stayed, even asked questions, smiled at Robbe’s story of the client who wanted clashing colors for an ad despite how many times Liv had tried to explain the market research on color theory.

“I’m sure you were right about the first color choices,” he said when Robbe’s story ended with the client getting exactly what he wanted.

“I was,” Robbe had assured him, unable to stop his smile this time.

At the bar, Robbe glanced over at Sander beside him, his half-finished drink, how Sander tapped the glass with his fingertips.

“They seem good together,” Sander said, glancing over his shoulder at Jens and Lucas.

“Yeah,” Robbe agreed, though he didn’t really know Lucas that well. He just knew that Jens seemed to like him a lot, a lot more than he’d liked anyone else he’d gone out with lately.

“It’s good for Luc,” Sander went on, looking at Robbe instead. “He’s had a hard time. He could use a nice guy.”

Robbe didn’t ask what kind of hard time Lucas had had. It wasn’t any of his business.

“What about you?” he asked instead, swallowing down the nerves that rose in his throat with the question. “You’re a famous footballer. You must have a lot of people interested.”

“I guess.” Sander shrugged, watching him now, teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “I was with this girl for a while, but she was a little much. Didn’t end too well.” Robbe just nodded, looking away, heart sinking. There it was. Sander was straight. He shouldn’t have thought otherwise. Just because he was friends with Lucas, who was gay. Just because he’d spent the whole evening smiling at Robbe. “And I haven’t had too much luck with guys either. I think maybe it’s the footballer thing—they just want someone semi-famous for a night.”

Robbe’s eyebrows went up despite himself as he looked at Sander, but Sander didn’t return it this time, contemplating his beer.

“You’re, um,” he said quietly, and Sander looked up.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, smiling at Sander instead. So there was a chance.

Robbe wasn’t good at this, at whatever the next step was supposed to be, knowing if someone even wanted him to make the next move, so he hesitated, tapping the sticky bar top.

“There’s a match on Monday,” Sander said after a moment, and Robbe glanced at him. “How would you feel about getting a drink after?”

“Like with the team?” Robbe asked, and Sander smiled slightly at his beer.

“Like with me,” he said, watching Robbe.

Robbe wanted to asked if Sander was really serious because there was no way a guy who looked like Sander would be interested in him with his wrinkled shirts and inability to form proper words when faced with those eyes.

He didn’t, though, grasping for words for a second until he felt his head nodding.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, a little breathlessly as Sander grinned.

“Great,” he just said, and Robbe nodded again. Great.

*

“So,” Jens said, perching in Robbe’s doorway, arms crossed, a smirk on his face that Robbe didn’t spare an eye roll at. Mostly because he was more preoccupied with the clothes laid out on his bed—why did everything he owned have to be weirdly too big or brown? “You’re going out with Sander.”

He didn’t say it like a question and Robbe glanced over his shoulder, frowning.

“Who told you?”

“Well, you didn’t,” Jens pointed out as Robbe inspected his one button-down shirt. He was pretty sure his mom had bought it for him years ago. Nothing was good enough for a date with Sander.

“I just didn’t want to jinx it,” Robbe said, sitting with a flump and a sigh on the mattress. After all, he’d been on plenty of first dates that went absolutely nowhere. He’d also heard Jens’ ‘don’t fall in love with this guy after one date’ spiel too many times.

“When are you going?” Jens asked after a second, dropping his hands and watching Robbe sift through his mess of shirts.

“After the game.”

“Match.”

“What?” Robbe looked up, and Jens sighed, smiling as he shook his head.

“They’re called matches. If you’re going to date a footballer, you might try to get the most basic terms right.”

Groaning, Robbe set his head in his hands. “God, this is going to be a disaster.”

He didn’t know anything about football except that he liked watching sweaty guys running around, but who didn’t? What if he made a complete fool of himself and Sander realized his mistake? Even Robbe couldn’t take that embarrassment.

“No, it’s not,” Jens said finally, stepping inside the room and sitting down next to Robbe, pushing aside his pile of clothes. “You’re going to be adorable and funny and he’s won’t be able to resist.”

Sighing, Robbe lifted his face, shooting Jens a look. “You think?”

“Of course I do,” Jens said, slapping his shoulder reassuringly, but he paused as he glanced at the art print on Robbe’s wall, abstract swaths of red and blue. “How long do you think you’ll be out?”

“Why?” Robbe asked cautiously and Jens shrugged.

“No reason. You should wear your black shirt.”

As Jens tossed the shirt in his lap and rose from the bed, Robbe watched him go.

“Say hi to Lucas for me,” he said as Jens reached the door, seeing the way Jens paused. “And don’t do it on the table again, okay?”

Jens didn’t reply to that, and Robbe shook his head as he left. Picking up the shirt, he had to admit it wasn’t a terrible choice. Maybe Jens was right sometimes.

*

Robbe didn’t usually go to places like this, with fancy low-lighting around the bar, the tinkling of music in the background, not like the usual bars Jens dragged him to. Each table was intimate, small over the round tops, chairs too close together, a candle flickering off the reflection of the glasses.

Robbe was definitely glad he’d worn the black shirt, even if it was one he usually saved for work events. He would have felt out of place otherwise even with Sander sitting across from him wearing a tee shirt that seemed to hug his biceps and skim down his chest. God, he was gorgeous.

“Do you come here a lot?” Robbe asked as Sander took a sip of his drink.

“Sometimes.” Sander shrugged, smiling at Robbe. “It’s a nice change from the bars I go to with guys from the team. Plus, I’m less likely to be recognized in a place like this.”

It was fancier than Robbe might have expected, and no one had seemed to give them a second glance.

“Do you get recognized a lot?” Robbe wouldn’t have been able to pick out even the most famous footballer if they’d walked right up to him.

“Enough,” Sander said with a slight smile, leaning closer to Robbe. “It seems like the people I want to recognize me never do.”

Robbe felt the blush crawling up the back of his neck as Sander’s fingers brushed against his, a light touch over his knuckles.

“If I hadn’t seen you play, I probably wouldn’t have recognized you either,” Robbe admitted, and Sander smiled, licking his lips slowly, eyes resting on Robbe’s face.

“Then it’s a good thing you came down to the stadium.”

“It’s a good thing Jens is sleeping with the team’s physical therapist,” Robbe joked, a nervous flutter in his chest when Sander shifted closer.

“Lucky us,” he said easily and Robbe smiled in return, reaching for his glass.

“Lucky us,” he echoed as Sander reached for his too.

*

“I actually wanted to be an artist when I was a kid,” Sander said over his empty glass, scrolling through the photos on Robbe’s phone of some of his projects. “Spent all my time drawing.”

“I was never good at drawing,” Robbe said when Sander handed his phone back. “But I was always good at the computer. I kind of hoped I’d get to do video game graphics some day.”

“You still could,” Sander pointed out, running a hand through his hair, shifting so his knee brushed against Robbe’s under the small table.

Robbe smiled to himself, at the nervous happiness curling in his stomach. It seemed so easy with Sander, the conversation, the mood, the way he felt when Sander smiled at him.

“You still could be an artist,” he said instead, even as Sander rolled his eyes. “Seriously. I bet people would even pay a lot for your art since you’re already famous.”

“I’m not as famous as you think,” Sander said, fingering his glass and watching Robbe with a soft smile. “ _You_ didn’t even know who I was.”

Robbe jerked his shoulders in response. “Yeah, but the only footballer I might even know the name of is David Beckham.”

“Well, I can’t compare to him,” Sander said seriously. “He married a Spice Girl.”

Laughing, Robbe shook his head, biting his lip as he glanced up to Sander’s amused smile. “I’m sure one is still free if you want to marry a Spice Girl.”

Sander paused thoughtfully, reaching forward slowly, running his thumb over the freckle on the inside of Robbe’s elbow, and Robbe held back his shiver.

“I might have other plans.”

Swallowing, Robbe blushed again, watching the way Sander’s fingers grazed down his forearm, feeling the tingle left behind, how Sander smiled softly to himself.

*

Robbe didn’t know what time it was, hadn’t checked his phone for hours, but it had to be late, the town dark outside the windows, lights blurring on buildings and streets, but inside the bar, it was as lively as ever as people came and went and Robbe and Sander stayed.

“I bet I could teach you some foot work,” Sander said even as Robbe laughed.

“I tried to be a skater in high school, but the truth was, I was horrible at it. I only learned because Jens wanted to. I don’t think I’d be any better at football.”

“You don’t know until you try,” Sander said easily, turning Robbe’s palm over in his hand, and Robbe let him, no longer blushing every time Sander touched him—it seemed to be something Sander liked to do, and Robbe was content to let him. “Besides, I bet you’d look good in the shorts.”

Sander smirked as Robbe felt himself going red again.

“I think you look better,” Robbe said, surprising even himself as the words came out of his mouth, but Sander’s smile just widened.

“Maybe we’ll have to compare,” Sander said as his phone vibrated on the table and he reached for it.

Robbe couldn’t help smiling to himself. He’d been nervous for no reason—Sander was as amazing as he’d expected. Smart, funny, charming, artistic. He wasn’t anything like Robbe would have expected a football player to be like, which he supposed were his own assumptions talking.

As Sander read the message on his phone, his eyebrows creased slightly.

“I hate to do this,” he said, tucking it away finally, “but I’ve got practice early tomorrow as Coach just reminded us. I should probably be getting home.”

“Oh,” Robbe said quickly, feeling only slightly disappointed that this had to end already, sliding off his stool when Sander did. “Sure, no problem.”

Sander pulled on his jacket, waiting for Robbe to join him at the door and opening it for him.

The door to the bar closed behind them, silence falling as they stepped onto the sidewalk, and Robbe hesitated. The nerves were back even as Sander glanced at him, but maybe it was more anticipation as Sander turned and stepped closer.

“I’m glad you agreed to go out with me,” he said quietly, and Robbe almost laughed. As if he would have said no.

“My pleasure,” he said instead, grinning at Sander, taking a quick breath as Sander leaned in, gaze on his lips a second before they met.

Sander’s mouth was warm, lips soft, hands coming up to cradle Robbe’s neck, and Robbe lifted onto his toes slightly as he kissed back, feeling almost dizzy when it ended and Sander swayed back.

“I’ll call you later,” Sander murmured after a second, pressing another, shorter kiss to Robbe’s lips, and Robbe sighed, his whole body weightless even as Sander moved back, hand lingering on Robbe’s chest until it fell away. “’Night, Robbe.”

“’Night,” Robbe echoed as Sander smiled one last time and turned to head down the street. He didn’t hide his grin as he let out a breath, watching until Sander’s form had vanished into the darkness.

He didn’t stop grinning all the way back to the apartment, replaying the last few hours with each step—Sander’s smile, the way he laughed at things Robbe said, how he let his fingers linger on his skin every chance he could, the way Sander had looked right before he kissed him.

Shoving the key in the lock, Robbe wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked—Jens was notoriously bad at remembering to lock it when he was home.

He was surprised, however, to find the TV on as he came inside and shrugged off his jacket. Jens’ head turned at the noise from the door.

“You’re back,” he said, and Robbe stepped into the living room, frowning at the TV.

“Are you watching a sad, period movie?”

“No,” Jens said, but Robbe jumped at Lucas’ voice a second later.

“Shut up. Yes, we are.”

Rounding the couch, Robbe’s eyebrows rose at Lucas lying with his head in Jens’ lap, looking completely comfortable. He nodded at Robbe.

“How’d the date go?”

For a second, Robbe glanced between him and Jens, the look in Jens’ eyes not to comment on whatever was happening here. Robbe couldn’t remember the last time Jens had actually watched one of these movies with him, and yet here he was, with Lucas in his lap, empty beers on the coffee table, somehow achingly domestic in a way Jens wasn’t usually with his partners.

Shaking away the surprise of finding Jens like this, Robbe had to stop the smile as Sander popped into his mind.

“It was good,” he said finally, and Jens shot him a look.

“Good?”

“Yes, good,” Robbe repeated, knowing exactly what Jens was thinking with that look. “I’m going to bed. Enjoy your movie.”

In his room, he sighed as the door shut. The date had been more than good, he admitted as he sunk onto his bed, still littered with his rejected clothing choices from earlier. It had been perfect. 

Lying down on his back, he smiled to himself. It had been perfect.

*

_Practice just ended. How about a steamy selfie ;)_

Grinning at his phone, Robbe turned to the window behind his desk, the sun breaking through the clouds.

 _My only memories of locker rooms are embarrassing and potentially humiliating,_ he typed, smiling a second later when a picture came through—a fogged up mirror with Sander’s face barely visible through the steam. _Steamy indeed_ , he sent in reply.

He should have been working on the Brewer account, a mind-numbingly boring campaign for shoes, but he’d rather spend his time texting Sander about his locker room antics.

_Kelian’s bragging about his latest tattoo. One guess where it is…_

_Somewhere you’d only see in a locker room probably,_ Robbe wrote, leaning back in his chair as he tried not to picture what Sander actually looked like in that locker room, probably all sweaty, clouded by steam, half-naked, texting Robbe instead of whatever he was supposed to be doing. It was far too distracting an image as he sat at his desk, his fantasy marred by the ringing of phones in the background, the bustling sounds of the office.

 _Good guess,_ Sander replied after a minute. _You don’t have any tattoos hidden away, do you?_

 _Afraid of needles,_ Robbe wrote back. He liked the idea of tattoos, had gone with Jens to get that geometric-shaped wolf on his shoulder, but that was as close as he got to tattoo needles.

_Me too, but that didn’t stop me._

Robbe couldn’t help wondering where Sander’s tattoo was, if it was someplace you’d only see in a locker room too…

“I hope that goofy smile on your face means you finished the Brewer ad.”

Jerking back from his phone, Robbe grimaced as he met Engel’s expectant look.

“Almost,” he said quickly, setting his phone aside.

Engel didn’t leave as he pulled up the ad. “Who were you texting?”

“No one.”

“There’s only two reasons someone smiles at their phone like that,” she said simply, sliding onto the corner of his desk. “Either it was an adorable kitten, or there’s a boy.”

Robbe didn’t reply as he glanced at the phone, the way it vibrated with a new text. It had only been one date, one amazing, perfect date, and now Sander was texting him the next day. It was definitely a boy, he thought, unable to stop his smile. A beautiful, smart, funny guy who happened to play professional football and apparently had hidden tattoos Robbe could only hope to see some day.

“What’s the ETA on the Brewer ad?”

Liv came up behind Engel, who slid off the desk quickly.

“Half an hour,” Robbe said, watching Liv look between them, hands on her hips, purple silk blouse coming out from where it was tucked into her skirt.

“Good,” she said simply. “Engel, weren’t you heading to lunch?”

“Yeah,” Engel said, nodding. “I was just going.”

“Front door’s over there,” Liv said with a jerk of her chin, a knowing smile as Engel nodded again. As she left, Liv turned back to Robbe. “You doing okay?”

Robbe nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. Back to work,” was all she said, tapping his desk with her fingernails before she turned and headed back for her office. Turning back to his computer, Robbe sighed at the pair of shoes on the screen.

Before he could click on anything, his phone vibrated with a notification, and he hesitated. He could take a second to see what Sander said, he decided, as he grabbed his phone and left the shoes on the screen.

*

“Third date in three days, huh,” Jens said as Robbe checked the time on his phone again. He didn’t want to be late, and even though he’d Googled it, he was worried it would take longer to get to Sander’s flat than the map said.

Glancing over at Jens on the couch beside him, he sighed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what,” Robbe said obviously, checking the time again. His stomach was awash with excitement this time, fluttery and nervous with anticipation. He just wanted to rush out of there and get to Sander’s, but he didn’t want to be early either, overexcited.

Jens huffed slightly, sinking into the cushions and shoving at Robbe’s thigh with his toes. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Robbe rolled his eyes. He could read all of Jens’ tones by now.

“Does Lucas know what an asshole you are?” he asked instead, clutching the phone between his fingers and messing with his hair.

“He likes it,” Jens shot back, and Robbe couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“You seem to like him,” he said slowly, and Jens glanced over, a slight crease to his forehead.

“What does that mean?”

Robbe shrugged, watching Jens. “He’s just over here a lot.”

“So?” Jens asked, sounding confused, a little suspicious. “Do you not like him coming over?”

“No,” Robbe said quickly. “I mean, I’m fine with it. He seems nice. Really nice. I’m just surprised that you…”

“That I what?” Jens asked this time, shooting Robbe a look.

Robbe wasn’t explaining himself properly, and he wanted desperately to check the time again, but he forced himself not to.

“I just can’t remember you ever spending this much time with someone, except for Jana, and that was forever ago. Do you think think maybe you…” He trailed off, trying to communicate his meaning with just his eyebrows, and Jens scoffed, shaking his head.

“It hasn’t even been a month,” he said. “We’re just having fun. No need for… all that.” He waved his hand at Robbe, as if he would know what ‘all that’ was. Love, Robbe would have said, but he knew Jens didn’t want to hear it.

Where Robbe always fell headfirst, Jens barely tiptoed in.

“Don’t you have a date to get to?” Jens asked after a second, and Robbe knew he was just trying to get rid of him. Luckily for Jens, Robbe did have a date and he could finally leave without fear of being ridiculously early.

“Maybe you, me, Lucas, and Sander could go out sometime,” he said as he rose from the couch, grabbing his jacket off the back.

“In your dreams,” Jens said, tossing a pillow after him, and Robbe rolled his eyes, heading for the front door and a guy who would be excited to see him.

*

“Wow,” Robbe said, staring at the kitchen counter, spread with plates and bowls, chopped vegetables, seasonings, the smell of crispy fish wafting from the oven. “You can cook.”

Sander looked up from sauce he was stirring, smirking over his shoulder. “You sound surprised.”

Robbe shook his head, climbing up on the stool behind the island. “I just didn’t think you’d have time for this stuff.”

“I have lots of hobbies,” Sander said with a simple jerk of his shoulders. “I like to keep busy.” He paused, glancing back at Robbe. “Are you impressed?”

Laughing, Robbe nodded easily. “Definitely. The cooking, the _flat_. It’s at least three times the size of mine.”

It was more than that. Sander’s flat was big and bright, large windows opening onto a balcony that overlooked town. Robbe didn’t even want to know how much rent was for this place. He supposed there were perks to be a professional sports player. Like designer furniture and an original Degas hanging on the wall, and a spacious kitchen where he could cook delicious meals for unsuspecting guys who thought an invitation to dinner had meant pizza and a movie.

“It’s just four walls,” Sander said, dismissive, almost like maybe he was embarrassed. “I got it when I first signed, and I think I had some idea about the guy I wanted to be instead of the guy I am.”

Sliding off the stool, Robbe rounded the island to come up beside Sander, staring at the sauce swishing around in the pan.

“What kind of guy did you want to be?” he asked, and Sander sighed slightly.

“I don’t know. The kind who has big parties that everyone wants to go to, who brings someone home and they’re so impressed by what they see, they forget about all my faults. I guess I thought I wanted to be like all those other famous players.” He looked up from the sauce, as if shaking the thought from his mind, flashing Robbe a smile. “Turns out, I’d rather stay home than go to those parties, and I’d rather bring someone home who was impressed with me instead of my flat.”

Robbe smiled at Sander’s words, the way his mask seemed to slip as he talked. His heart clenched, like a girl getting her first Valentine.

“I think I like that person,” he said, catching Sander’s gaze, biting his lip against the flush crawling up the back of his neck, and he busied himself setting dirty dishes in the sink instead. “We could always go to my flat,” he said to the sink. “It smells like Jens’ dirty socks and the dishes haven’t been washed in weeks.”

That got a smile out of Sander, genuine.

“Here, try this,” he said, holding up the spoon instead, lingering at Robbe’s lips.

Robbe opened his mouth, a ripple of heat crawling up his spine as Sander’s eyes never left his. The sauce fell rich and thick on his tongue, and he swallowed carefully as Sander watched him.

“That’s amazing,” he breathed as Sander lowered the spoon and smirked.

“Good.” He turned back to the stove as Robbe leaned against the counter, needing something to hold onto, so very tempted to just pull Sander away from the food and kiss him senseless. “You know the one bad thing about your flat?” Sander asked, and Robbe paused.

“What?” Sander hadn’t even seen his flat yet, so how could he know that the heater never worked properly or that upstairs neighbor liked to have wall-shaking sex at two in the morning or that the lock on the bathroom had been broken since they moved in?

“Jens is there,” Sander said, more to the sauce than to Robbe.

“You don’t like Jens?” Robbe hadn’t gotten that from any of their interactions so far.

“I like him fine,” Sander said, lifting his head, meeting Robbe’s questioning gaze with something intense of his own. “But we’re all alone here, in this very big flat with all these soft surfaces and as much time as we want.”

Robbe’s cheeks flushed red as he swallowed down the lump rising in his throat. “ _Oh_.”

Sander smirked as the timer dinged. “How about that dinner?”

Fuck, Robbe couldn’t wait until after dinner.

*

“More wine?” Sander asked, nodding at the bottle on the coffee table, and Robbe shook his head.

“I think wine is wasted on me,” he admitted, swishing what was in his glass and sinking into the plush couch, cushions conforming to his body. “I don’t know anything about it.”

He felt kind of stupid admitting it when Sander had offered, picked some fancy wine out of a cupboard and popped the cork out with an ease Robbe would never have. It had gotten them here, though, too close on the couch, twinkling city lights spread out through the inky night sky out the window. Robbe wasn’t looking at the view, though, watching how Sander laughed.

“Honestly? I don’t know anything either.”

“Then why do you drink it?”

Sander took a sip before answering, leaning back to watch Robbe next to him, and Robbe felt a tug behind his navel, an incline to slide closer, drawn in by Sander’s warm gaze.

“I guess people just expect it,” he said finally. “They seem to think that you get a bit of money and you should know about wine and designer furniture and all that stuff.”

Robbe set his glass on the table, shifting on the couch, and Sander’s eyes moved to him.

“I’m just glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what good wine is.”

Sander smiled easily, head tilted to the side, tongue flicking over his lower lip as he watched Robbe. “We can be ignorant together.”

Robbe was definitely okay with that as Sander leaned in and kissed him.

They’d kissed a few times in the last few days—a few goodbye kisses that always made Robbe feel like his was about to float right off the ground, but this was different. This was them alone in Sander’s flat, the city laid out before their feet, the wine going to Robbe’s head as he slid his hands over Sander’s shirt, fingers bunching over his shoulders as he tried to tug him closer.

Sander’s mouth fit to his, soft and warm, hand in the back of his hair, pulling Robbe into his lap on the couch. Robbe’s whole body fell into him, fitting in his lip, using the leverage to lick into Sander’s mouth, chasing the soft sound Sander made, almost like a purr.

Sander’s warm hands skated around his waist, a gentle pressure Robbe gave in to without a second thought, as close as he could get as Sander’s chest pressed to his, Sander’s hands slid up his back, and he had to swallow down the heat rising on his skin.

Robbe sighed against Sander, eyes rolling back as Sander’s mouth slid up his jaw, tongue lapping at his ear, tugging at the lobe while Robbe made an embarrassing noise in response.

Sander didn’t seem to notice, or he ignored it, pulling Robbe’s mouth back to his, broad hands pushing under his shirt, firm over his back. The kisses were slow, almost leisurely, but there was a hint of insistence behind them as Robbe got his hands in Sander’s hair, tugging at the bleached locks, and everything seemed to grow heavier, hotter with Sander’s hands skating up his back, pushing Robbe’s shirt up until they had to break apart to get it over his head.

As he sat there, his shirt on the floor, Sander’s eyes grazing down his chest, he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. He definitely wasn’t as fit as Sander, who had taut, lean muscles Robbe could feel even through his shirt, and for a second, he wondered if Sander was going to change his mind.

But Sander’s hands came to cup Robbe’s face a second later, pulling him closer as he closed his eyes for a second.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Sander breathed, and Robbe’s whole chest felt like it was expanding, swelling with something so close to elation he could barely stand it.

Sander kissed him a moment later and Robbe sunk into him, holding him close as the whole world blurred into twinkling lights reflecting off two wine glasses.

*

Sander tugged the covers up to their waists, smiling as Robbe curled into him, tracing the line of his collarbone, damp with sweat, his chest moving up and down with each breath.

Robbe felt the kiss Sander pressed to his hair, the sigh that followed, completely comfortable as they lay there, soft, warm light from the bedside lamp washing over their bodies. 

Glancing up, Robbe couldn’t help but smile as he gazed at Sander, the minuscule freckles he could see this close, the gentle curve of his lips, hair mussed against the pillow, blinking slowly as though halfway to asleep already.

“Have you always bleached your hair?” Robbe asked, reaching up to run his fingers through Sander’s hair.

“Mmm,” Sander hummed, eyes closed as though enjoying Robbe’s touch, and Robbe smiled. “I started a few years ago, and now my agent says it’s my ‘look.’”

“I think it looks good,” Robbe said, and Sander made a soft noise.

“You and half a million other people.” He sighed, shifting into Robbe, nuzzling his neck like a particularly affectionate cat. “I cut it during the off-season to give it a break, but every August, it’s back to blond.”

Robbe didn’t respond right away, letting his hand fall from Sander’s hair to his shoulder instead. His thumb drew circles on the skin, and he saw the way Sander smiled, felt Sander’s hand come up to rest on his neck.

It was perfect, he thought as he lay there, snug in Sander’s bed, no nagging feeling that he should get up and get dressed, not thinking about client meeting tomorrow, not even caring that they were still naked under the smooth, thin sheet, the pristine white comforter bunched at the end of the bed.

Even as they lay together, Sander’s fingers resting against his pulse, their soft breathing the only sounds in the room, Robbe didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay with Sander in his arms forever, talking about stupid things like hair and wine and all the things they should know about but didn’t.

“I bet you look good with any hair color,” Robbe breathed finally, feeling the way Sander twisted his head to look up at him, expression indiscernible for a second, but his mouth quirked after a second and he shifted to press a lingering kiss to Robbe’s lips.

“Thanks,” Sander said, though Robbe wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t really matter as they settled in and closed their eyes, sinking into each other.

*

Groaning at the noise coming from his phone, Robbe groped for it on the table, managing to turn off the alarm before cracking his eyes open and blinking at the unusually bright light streaming through the curtains. Sheer white curtains, definitely not Robbe’s curtains.

Pushing himself up, he glanced at the other side of the bed, the crumpled sheets, the indent still in the pillow. Sander’s clothes had been picked up from the floor, and Robbe rolled out of bed a second later, collecting his boxers and pulling on a shirt he found sticking by the nightstand.

Sunlight fell through the living room windows as Robbe ventured out, listening cautiously. Maybe Sander wasn’t even there. Maybe he had left Robbe to pick up his things and leave on his own. It had happened before.

“You’re up.”

Robbe looked up at Sander’s voice from the kitchen, a wave of relief breaking through the momentary doubt. He shouldn’t have doubted.

Robbe couldn’t help but stare at the counter already set with a plate, silverwear, a cloth napkin, glass filled with orange juice, fresh pastries on a plate and a bowl of fruit in the corner.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said as Sander rounded the corner to greet him with a soft kiss, grinning at Robbe as he pulled back, hands around his waist.

“Of course I did. You deserve the best.” Sander kissed him again, and Robbe couldn’t help lifting up on his toes to meet him, his whole heart swelling.

“How long have you been awake?” Robbe asked when they finally parted, swaying slightly as they stood by the island.

“I’m an early riser,” Sander said with a shrug. “Sometimes I just can’t sleep.” His gaze fell to Robbe, and he smiled after a second. “You sleep like a log, though.”

Rolling his eyes, Robbe hesitated to let go of Sander as he stepped back to the pan on the stove, hand twined in his shirt, but it slipped through his fingers.

Sander glanced over his shoulder. “You do look good in my clothes.”

Flushing slightly, Robbe tugged at the edge of the shirt he had on, down his thigh. His own shirt was still in a pile by the couch, but he didn’t trade them out as he watched Sander flip whatever was in the pan.

“Do you have training?” he asked, and Sander nodded slowly. 

“At ten.”

Sighing, Robbe leaned on the island, smiling at the way Sander stretched for a spice in the cupboard and the edge of his shirt lifted, exposing the red lightening bolt tattoo over the back of his hip. 

He’d seen it last night, but it was even more striking in the daylight, especially as more skin was exposed when Sander leaned over to rummage in a drawer.

“You’re welcome.”

“What?” Robbe asked, jerking his gaze away from Sander’s ass as Sander straightened up, a smirk on his lips.

He didn’t answer that, taking the pan off the heat and turning to Robbe. “Breakfast, most important meal of the day.”

“I think I’d rather have something else,” Robbe said, and Sander’s smirk widened, though that didn’t stop him from looking adorable even with his hand in a puffy glove holding the pan, a spatula in the other.

“Protein first, then sugar,” he said, and Robbe laughed, pushing off the counter and smiling as Sander served up breakfast. 

Perfect.

*

Robbe sighed as the front door shut behind him, the same stupid smile that had been on his face all day still there. Engel had poked him at the coffee-maker and demanded to know what was making him so happy. Dropping his keys on the counter, he jumped as Jens’ head popped up from the couch.

“Oh, Robbe, hey,” he said quickly, almost jerkily, brushing at his hair, but Robbe didn’t care about whatever Jens was doing. Nothing could spoil this good mood.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Lucas appeared a second later, face flushed, hair as mussed as Jens’, struggling to sit up on the couch, shoving Jens back from where he was apparently on top of him.

Normally, Robbe might have rolled his eyes at their horny teenager routine, but he didn’t care. He was too happy to care. He’d spent practically the whole day reliving the date at Sander’s apartment, from the perfect dinner to the perfect breakfast and everything in between.

“Isn’t that Sander’s shirt?” Lucas asked once his face had returned to its normal color and he finished fixing his shirt.

Robbe glanced down, unable to stop his smile. “Yeah.”

“It’s going well, then?” he asked eagerly. “Sander seems happy.”

“It’s going really well,” Robbe admitted, sighing happily again, and Jens’ eyebrow seemed to drop as he did. Lucas perched himself over the back of the couch while Jens remained seated, twisted to watch Robbe.

“What’d you do last night?”

“He made me dinner,” Robbe said, smiling again as he shrugged off his jacket.

Lucas smiled with him, nudging Jens. “How come you’ve never made me dinner?”

Jens’ eyebrows went up and he hesitated. “Because I can’t cook.”

“It’s true,” Robbe agreed, slipping off his shoes and grabbing a beer from the fridge. “The most he can do are fish sticks from a box.”

“Hey,” Jens protested, rolling his eyes, but Lucas just laughed.

“Okay, you get a pass.” He looked back to Robbe as Robbe moved over to the chair and sunk down. His fingers were already itching to text Sander, not that they hadn’t been messaging all day since Sander finished training. “Tell me more about dinner.”

“Well, it was some kind of fish,” Robbe said—he’d asked, but now he couldn’t remember what Sander had said. He’d forgotten practically the minute Sander had held out the fork to feed him a bite.

“No,” Lucas interrupted with a laugh. “I mean, how was it?”

“It was…” Robbe paused, thinking back on last night, from Sander in the kitchen to Sander on the couch, the things he’d told Robbe, the connection he felt. “It was perfect.”

Jens’ head snapped up at that, but Lucas just smiled.

“That’s so cute.”

Robbe felt himself blush, staring at his hands instead. “Yeah, well, I need to go shower.”

“I’m going to tease Sander about this tomorrow,” he heard Lucas tell Jens as he headed for his room. “He deserves it for the way he keeps asking what you and I are doing.”

Shutting his bedroom door, Robbe dropped onto his bed, not bothering to stop his grin as his mind drifted to Sander again. This was how life should be all the time.

*

Jens shut the door behind Lucas as Robbe stepped into the living room, crossing to the kitchen and filling a glass of water.

“I was thinking pizza for dinner,” he said as Jens joined him, leaning against the door frame.

“Not going out with Sander?” he asked, and Robbe shrugged.

“We’re having breakfast tomorrow.”

Jens didn’t reply for a minute, mouth twisting in a way Robbe had seen before. He didn’t ask, though. Didn’t want to.

“But you like him,” Jens said finally, and Robbe knew exactly what Jens was getting at.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “He’s amazing.”

“Perfect,” Jens said, using Robbe’s word from earlier, but the way he said it, it made Robbe want to grimace.

“So?” Turning to face Jens, Robbe wasn’t sure he wanted to know why Jens was bringing it up. Why couldn’t Jens just let him be happy?

“So you always do this,” Jens said, as though he was trying to be gentle, but the huff at the end ruined it. “You meet some guy, have a couple dates and decide that everything is _perfect_. He’s handsome and smart and charming. And then one of two things always happens.”

Frowning, Robbe pushed past Jens to the living room. “I’ve heard this before.”

“But you don’t listen,” Jens pointed out, following him. “Either you fall in love with him and tell him after, like, three dates, and he understandably freaks out and ghosts you, or else he does something and your perfect image of him is shattered. You put them on a pedestal, and when they inevitably disappoint you, you’re left broken-hearted. It happens every time.”

Annoyed, Robbe sighed as he flopped down on the couch. “I don’t do that.”

Jens rounded the couch, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “Derrick, Noa, Willems one and two—”

“Sander’s different,” Robbe interrupted, glaring at Jens. All those other guys hadn’t been right for him. He could admit that. But Sander.

“Is he?” Jens asked, and Robbe wished he would just butt out, like in high school when he hadn’t even noticed Robbe being into guys. “You’ve known him for six days.”

“And it’s been the best six days of my life.”

“Robbe.” Jens sighed, shaking his head as though Robbe just didn’t get it, but he did. He understood completely.

“I know you think you’re helping,” Robbe said, pushing himself up from the couch. “But I’m in charge of my own love-life. You don’t know how I feel about Sander, how he feels about me.”

“I know how you feel,” Jens assured him, and Robbe scowled. “It’s the same way you felt before you told all those other guys you loved them after only a couple days. You gotta understand how terrifying that is to someone you barely know.”

“Maybe I’m not afraid of my feelings like you are!” he snapped, and Jens stared this time.

“What?”

Rolling his eyes, Robbe huffed. He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation. The whole day had gone so well, and now it was ruined with Jens thinking he knew what was best for Robbe, thinking he knew exactly what was going to happen with him and Sander and trying to _warn_ him.

“It’s been a month and you won’t even call Lucas your boyfriend. He’s not gonna wait around forever, you know.”

“Lucas has nothing to do with this,” Jens argued, and Robbe shook his head.

“You think you can tell me what to do in my relationships, so why can’t I tell you?” he retorted, watching Jens scoff.

“I’m just trying to stop you from making the same mistake you’ve made a hundred times before!” Jens said, and Robbe rolled his eyes again.

“I guess I’m just so helpless that I need your advice. You haven’t had a real relationship since Jana, and that was in high school.”

Jens stared, but Robbe didn’t care. So what if he’d made mistakes in the past? He knew how he felt about Sander. Whatever Jens said couldn’t change that.

Stalking to his bedroom door, he yanked open the handle. “I don’t want your advice, Jens. Work on your own relationship.”

He left Jens with his mouth opening to argue, but he shut the door tight behind him and sighed as he leaned back against it. Nothing Jens said could change what he knew, and that was that he loved Sander.

*

“Not hungry?”

Robbe blinked at the flakes of croissant covering his plate and he forced himself to put down the pastry, meeting Sander’s gaze across the cafe table.

The whole place smelled like coffee, spoons clinking in cups as they stirred, soft piano music in the background, flowers on every table, and Robbe supposed he should have been enjoying his croissant that tasted very much like vanilla, but his mind was somewhere else even with Sander sitting right in front of him.

“Just distracted,” he said, shaking his head and taking a bite as if to prove himself.

“Work?” Sander asked, eyebrows creased in worry, but Robbe shook his head.

“It’s nothing. I just had a fight with Jens.” He shrugged. He definitely didn’t want to tell Sander that the fight had been about him, or rather, their relationship.

“Roommate squabbles?” Sander asked easily, smiling teasingly, and Robbe jerked his head.

“Something like that.”

“I’m sure you’ll work through it,” Sander said, taking Robbe’s hand from where it sat on the table between them, stroking his fingers softly. “You’ve been friends forever.”

“Yeah,” Robbe agreed slowly. Jens hadn’t been up when he’d left that morning, but he could almost feel the chill coming from his bedroom. He shouldn’t have been thinking about Jens, though, Jens and his stupid pattern that apparently Robbe followed every time.

Jens was wrong anyway. Sander was just as good as Robbe thought. He was smart and funny and good-looking, successful, and he smiled at Robbe in a way that made him feel like the whole world might just swallow him whole.

“I was thinking,” Robbe said after a second, watching the way Sander traced the lines on his palm thoughtfully, “there’s a concert tomorrow night at Tivoli we could go to.”

Sander hesitated, making a face. “I actually have a thing tomorrow. It’s a benefit. The whole team has to go.”

“Oh,” Robbe said easily, and Sander glanced up at him quickly.

“I didn’t think it would be your thing. You know, tuxes and people droning on about their houses in Mallorca. It’s boring enough for me. I didn’t want to subject you to that as well.”

“It’s fine,” Robbe said, though he did sigh. He supposed he had just expected Sander might want to take him to work events, though he could see the issue considering he was a professional sports player and they weren’t always the most open, to put it lightly. 

Sander shot him a look across the table. “I’d much rather skip the whole thing and spend the night at a concert with you,” he assured Robbe, leaning over to kiss him, lingering against his lips as he smiled. “If you really want to go, I promise, the next one, we’ll get you a tux and you can listen to all the stories about how much the pool renovation cost.”

“The next one?” Robbe asked, doubtful, but Sander nodded.

“There’s always a next one.”

The momentary doubt Robbe had felt washed away as Sander smiled, smoothing his fingers through Robbe’s hair. There was no need to worry. They could spend one day apart. In fact, they probably shouldn’t spend every day together.

He was just letting Jens get in his head.

“Sunday?” he asked instead, and Sander grinned.

“Brunch?” he asked, leaning in to nuzzle Robbe’s nose, brushing a barely-there kiss against his lips. “My place?”

“It’s a date,” Robbe said, and Sander nodded, humming into the kiss this time.

“Yes, it is.”

*

Robbe glanced up from his attempt to find something interesting-enough to watch on Netflix as Jens’ bedroom door opened and he came out. Jens didn’t say anything as he crossed the living room and pulled on his jacket.

Looking after him, Robbe frowned. It wasn’t like he and Jens hadn’t fought before, about far stupider things, and Robbe wouldn’t have said anything was wrong, per se, between them. They hadn’t stopped talking to each other, but the air in the apartment just felt close and dense.

“Where are you going?” Robbe heard himself ask as Jens checked his pockets for keys and phone.

“Out with Luc,” Jens replied shortly, and Robbe could hear the annoyance at the question, as if it meant something else.

If anyone should be upset, it should have been Robbe. Jens had basically said that Robbe couldn’t tell reality from fantasy in his relationships, that he romanticized everything and put people on a pedestal. He didn’t do that. Sander really was an amazing guy, and just because Robbe had only known him a week didn’t change that fact.

“Doesn’t he have to go to—” Robbe cut himself off sharply. Jens didn’t need to know that Sander was somewhere without him right now. He would assume he’d been right and that Sander was just proving Robbe wrong as they spoke.

Jens lifted his eyebrows when Robbe didn’t finish. “To what?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” Robbe muttered, turning back to the TV.

He heard Jens huff, probably rolling his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else, and Robbe heard the front door close behind him a minute later.

Slumping onto the couch, Robbe sighed. He didn’t like fighting with Jens, but Jens was just plain wrong this time.

It was good, he decided as he scrolled through the unappealing list of movie choices. He and Sander shouldn’t spend every minute together. Time apart was good for couples. It was normal. Healthy. Jens and Lucas didn’t go out every day, though Robbe bet they at least talked every day, through text or whatever other means. How was that any different than him and Sander?

Sighing, Robbe grabbed his phone instead of choosing a movie. It was almost nine at night—Sander probably had a glass of champagne in his hand, was probably talking to some woman in an ugly ball gown about the cost of pool tile. It made Robbe smile, thinking of Sander looking handsome in a tux. He wondered just how boring those benefits usually were, if Sander spent the whole time talking to his teammates to survive the night. He was probably checking his phone for the time just like Robbe was.

A notification from Instagram popped up on his phone and Robbe opened the app to Engel’s message.

_Isn’t this that footballer you were oggling the other day?_

Robbe clicked on the post she’d sent, smiling slightly as he caught sight of Sander, dressed smartly in his tux, talking to someone. His eyes slid to the blond woman next to him, though, the one wearing a slinky black dress that pooled on the floor, her hand tucked around his arm, laughing brightly, clinking her champagne glass with Sander’s.

Scrolling down, Robbe read the caption, from one of those celebrity news accounts.

_Are our dreams coming true? Britt Ingelbrecht and Sander Driesen back together after six months apart? We caught them sharing a glass of champagne at tonight’s Annual AMP Benefit._

That was Sander’s ex-girlfriend, Robbe thought as he scrolled back up, zooming in on her hand curled around his bicep, nails perfectly done. She looked like one of those girls who would have completely ignored Robbe in high school, too rich, too pretty. In the photo, Sander was glancing at her, half a smile on his face.

Sitting back, Robbe didn’t answer Engel’s question.

Was that why Sander hadn’t wanted him to come? So he could be with his ex? So they could take perfect photos for the media? There was no way Robbe would ever look as good as Britt did next to Sander.

He was jumping to conclusions, he told himself firmly, forcing himself to put down the phone. Sander hadn’t really talked about his ex. For all he knew, they could actually be friends, and this picture was just the account trying to create drama where there was none.

He didn’t know everything about Sander. After all, it had only been a week.

 _Fuck_.

It was Jens’ voice in his head, Jens’ voice saying, “Told you!”

Jens couldn’t be right. Robbe wouldn’t let him. So he didn’t know everything about Sander’s past? He still knew how he felt about Sander. There was plenty of time for the little details later.

_”You put them on a pedestal, and when they inevitably disappoint you, you’re left broken-hearted.”_

Shaking away Jens’ voice, Robbe rubbed his face. There was nothing wrong with Sander. Robbe knew he wasn’t perfect. No one was. Just because he could see past people’s flaws didn’t mean he was wrong in his feelings. Sander had been nothing but amazing since they’d met.

The temptation to look at the photo was too strong, and Robbe shoved the phone deep in the cushions instead, clicking on the first movie he found. He didn’t want to spend the whole night thinking about Sander and his ex. Absolutely nothing good would come of it.

*

How did he always do this, Robbe thought, gazing across the small white table at Sander, the way the mid-morning sun lit up his face as they sat on the balcony of his flat, the city just coming alive on a lazy Sunday. He always managed to fall for someone so quickly, only to have it ripped out from under him.

“I thought about you in the shower this morning,” Sander said with a cheeky smile as he reached for a strawberry. “Wished you were there with me.”

A few days ago, Sander saying that would have made his heart flutter like a lovesick butterfly, but now all Robbe could think of was that picture of Sander and his ex-girlfriend, Jens’ words echoing in his ears, his own disappointment as he realized Jens was right. Now, he could only think that whatever feelings he had for Sander, Sander might not return.

When Robbe didn’t respond, reaching for his glass of orange juice, Sander leaned over the table, head tilted to the side.

“Next time you stay over, we’ll get clean together,” he said simply, pulling Robbe’s knuckles to his lips.

“How was the benefit?” Robbe asked instead, taking his hand back, and Sander didn’t seem to notice anything wrong as he shrugged, biting into the strawberry.

“Boring. Lots of champagne, people throwing money around.” He glanced at Robbe. “I wish I’d just asked you to come. I would much rather have spent the night talking to you than pretending to enjoy myself.”

Robbe bit his lip as he looked out over the city, sun gilding the gleaming rooftops, and a pair of birds twittered past the balcony. 

“No one interesting there?” he said, looking back to Sander. 

“Not unless you count the waiters. They had these really amazing crab puffs. I’m going to learn how to make them for you.”

So he wasn’t going to mention his ex, Robbe thought. Of course he wouldn’t. They’d probably had a great time together and Robbe was just fooling himself thinking someone like Sander might be the one.

He alway did this. Every single time, and he never learned.

“I saw some pictures,” he said finally. “Online. Isn’t that Britt girl a model or something?”

Sander paused as he reached for his glass, eyes darting to Robbe’s, as though trying to discern how much he knew. As he did, Robbe felt his whole heart sink.

“You mean Britt Ingelbrecht?” Sander asked after a long minute. “Yeah, she does some modeling. We actually dated for a while. I don’t know if I told you that.”

“You said you had an ex.”

Sander smiled slightly, watching Robbe. “Everyone’s got an ex.”

“Most exes aren’t models,” Robbe pointed out, and Sander exhaled a long breath as he leaned into Robbe, brushing his hair over his ear, close enough that Robbe could see the lines of silver in his irises.

“Britt and I have been over for a long time,” he assured Robbe, foreheads pressed together, and Robbe closed his eyes for a second. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that he and Sander were meant for each other, but hadn’t he believed that about everyone else before? Hadn’t he told them he loved them only for them to bolt? And none of them had been nearly as perfect as Sander.

Perfect. There was that word again, and Robbe opened his eyes to face Sander’s sincere expression. Sander wasn’t perfect. Robbe was far from perfect, so why did he let himself get caught up in the fantasy? In his mind, he’d already picked out their ties for the wedding, planned a romantic honeymoon, had them living in a small house with a garden where Sander could grow his own herbs.

It was ridiculous, but Robbe couldn’t help believing, just for a second, that it could all come true with Sander gazing into his eyes like that.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Sander said, gently, reassuring, and he kissed Robbe with such tenderness, it made his heart ache even as he knew it wasn’t true at all.

*

Robbe ignored the texts from Sander about some foreign film he wanted to see, sighing as he dropped the phone on his lap. He wasn’t paying any attention to the show on the TV, and he looked over his shoulder at the sound of the front door opening.

It was just Jens, pulling off his jacket and heading for the kitchen without greeting Robbe. 

Sitting on the couch, Robbe watched Jens emerge from the kitchen with a beer and flop down on the other end without a word. He knew he should say something, he didn’t know what. He couldn’t just admit that Jens had been right, that Robbe had fallen face-first again only to realize things weren’t like he pictured.

“Not out with Lucas?” he heard himself ask, grimacing slightly. It had been the first thing to come to mind, and Jens probably thought it was another dig about his inability to commit.

Jens didn’t look at him, watching the TV. “He’s having dinner with his mom.”

Robbe wanted to ask why Jens hadn’t gone to meet her, but he bit his tongue. That wasn’t the way to end this argument.

“I was thinking of getting pizza,” he said after a minute, and Jens blinked at the TV.

“Salami?”

“And mushrooms,” Robbe said, watching Jens.

“Okay,” Jens agreed after a minute, glancing at Robbe and smiling slightly.

It was with relief that Robbe picked up his phone, frowning at another message from Sander on the screen.

_Some of the guys are going to a pub. Come with?_

For a second, Robbe’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. He wanted to see Sander more than anything, but that was exactly the problem.

Robbe had scared off enough guys, as Jens had pointed out, by falling too fast, spending too much time with them, being too clingy. After this weekend, he could finally see it, that his brain had concocted some fantasy life with Sander without even taking the time to get to know him. Other people didn’t move that fast, and if Robbe kept on going this way, he would scare Sander away.

He didn’t know how to _not_ be himself, though, throwing himself into every relationship one hundred percent. How did other people manage to be casual? Dates a few times a week, taking months to get to know the other person before knowing it was right? Looking over at Jens, he sighed. Jens did it. Jens never got close to anyone he dated, not like Robbe did.

“You gonna order?” Jens asked as Robbe watched him, shaking himself finally and clicking out of the message.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, opening up the web browser instead.

*

“Did you hear the news?” Engel asked brightly, sliding onto Robbe’s desk, hair swinging over her shoulder. “Liv landed the new Zanes Sportswear campaign.”

“Uh huh,” Robbe muttered, fiddling with the positioning of the logo on the ad he was working on.

“You know what that means?” Engel asked, and Robbe shook his head. “It means they’ll be looking for a spokesman, someone to feature in all the ads.” When Robbe still didn’t reply, she sighed. “What about that footballer? He’d be perfect. So gorgeous.”

Robbe’s head snapped up, and she looked confused at his reaction.

“No, we shouldn’t suggest him.”

“Why not? Then you could go watch the photoshoots, maybe even meet him!”

Robbe didn’t tell her that they’d already met, that Sander had texted him twice already this morning to see what he was doing later, if he wanted to meet up.

“You know we’re not allowed in the shoots,” he said, and Engel frowned.

“You could always sneak in. It’s not like they’d throw you out.”

“I’m sure there’s someone more famous out there,” he said instead, turning back to his screen. Of course Sander would be great in ads for some sportswear company. He was handsome, photogenic, and had that easy charm that resonated through a screen. It was exactly what clients wanted.

But it wasn’t a good idea to have Sander at his workplace. He was trying to spend less time with Sander, to convince his heart that it didn’t need to palpitate every time Sander’s name appeared on his screen. He could go slower. He could date like a normal person. It didn’t have to be all or nothing.

What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to break up with Sander, and he definitely didn’t want to get too clingy. If it wasn’t him blurting out that he loved a guy over dinner, it was smothering them. Robbe didn’t like to admit it, but he sometimes went too far.

So he hadn’t answered any of Sander’s texts the last couple days, not even sure what he was supposed to say. He hadn’t asked Jens for advice because he didn’t want to face that knowing look that would wash over Jens’ face if he did. Besides, they’d just barely moved past the fight. He didn’t want another.

“Well, I think we should suggest him,” Engel said anyway, pushing herself off the desk. “I think he’d be perfect.” 

Sighing, Robbe waited until she’d left before pulling out his phone. There were no new texts aside from those from earlier that Robbe hadn’t replied to. He didn’t even know how long he was supposed to wait before texting back—usually he never waited. Another thing he did wrong.

It had been two days, though. Maybe that was enough, Robbe thought as he opened up the messages and read Sander’s last.

_There’s a new restaurant by my flat I’ve been wanting to try. How about we go after the match?_

Glancing at the clock, Robbe guessed that the match hadn’t started yet. Taking a breath, he typed his answer in, reading over several times to make sure it didn’t seem overeager before hitting send.

_Sounds cool. Text me the details._

It seemed chill enough, and Robbe sighed as he set the phone down. He didn’t like it, being “cool,” but if that was what it took not to lose Sander, he would do it. He wasn’t going to fall too fast and ruin it this time.

*

Something was off, though Robbe wasn’t sure what as he sat across from Sander in the cozy restaurant, a candle flickering on the table between them. The food tasted amazing and the ambiance was set with twinkling lights along the walls, cozy and romantic all at the same time. But it didn’t feel romantic.

“Did you win today?” Robbe asked as Sander pushed pieces of his entree around his plate.

“Actually, we lost,” he admitted, and Robbe frowned.

“Sorry.”

Sander shrugged in response. “It happens.”

Setting his fork down, Robbe didn’t know what to say. It was like all the ease from before had evaporated into thin air.

“You want to get out of here?” he said for lack of anything else to cheer Sander up.

“And go where?” Sander asked, lifting his gaze to Robbe.

“I don’t know.” Robbe shrugged, glancing out the window at the darkened street. “Take a walk, go to a garden, back to your place?”

“My place?” Sander asked, as though he hadn’t heard correctly, and Robbe smiled slightly.

“Yeah, your place.”

He hoped it wasn’t too forward, too pushy, too clingy, hesitating when Sander paused. Maybe he’d read Sander’s mood all wrong. He just knew when he was in a bad mood, the last thing he wanted to do was go out, whether it was to a restaurant or a bar or wherever. He’d rather curl up with a comforting movie and a cup of hot cocoa.

“We could watch a movie or something,” he said quickly when Sander didn’t reply, and as he watched, Sander seemed to relax.

“Actually, that sounds nice,” he said, and Robbe couldn’t help smiling down at his plate. He’d only eaten half of his dinner, but he’d rather spend any time Sander would allow alone with him instead. He had to get as much as he could right now.

They paid the check quickly, and Robbe was infinitely glad that the restaurant was around the corner from Sander’s flat as the night was unusually chilly.

Sander’s hand slipped into his as they walked, and Robbe felt a warm tingle in his palm as their fingers tangled together. Why couldn’t it always be like this? He wanted to do this every night, but he couldn’t. He would scare Sander off, and Sander had already spent one night this week with his ex. He bet Britt hadn’t called every day or sent stupid David Bowie memes she found on the internet.

“What do you like to watch?” Sander asked once they reached his flat, unlocking the front door and letting Robbe in first.

“Whatever you want to watch,” he said, but Sander shook his head, reaching for Robbe’s jacket and sliding it off.

“No, no, I know that trick. I’ll pick some boring artistic movie and you’ll complain the whole time.”

“No, I won’t,” Robbe assured him. “I like movies where you have to think.”

“Really?” Sander asked, skeptical, and Robbe nodded.

“Jens hates them. He always wants to watch cars crashing into each other.”

“I feel kind of bad for Luc,” Sander said, but he rounded the couch and sat down. Robbe moved to sit beside him, taking the opportunity to snuggle in close to Sander before he could notice.

Sander picked some movie Robbe had never heard of, but he didn’t really care as he rested his head against Sander’s shoulder and Sander’s arm draped around him. He had to soak up as much of this as possible.

He smiled at Sander’s lips pressing a kiss to the top of his head as the movie played, his heart thumping eagerly at the tender touch. Fuck, this was everything he wanted, and he felt the words bubbling up inside him as warmth filled his chest, the soft murmur from the television washing over him.

Biting his lip, he rubbed his face in Sander’s shoulder instead to stop himself. If he said it, he wouldn’t be able to take it back, would see the fear in Sander’s eyes, and he didn’t want that.

“You okay?” Sander asked, fingers brushing through Robbe’s hair, and Robbe nodded.

“Fine.”

“Okay,” Sander said, hesitant as he tilted Robbe’s face to his, leaning in for a kiss that Robbe had to move up to finish.

As he settled back down, Robbe held in his sigh. He was far from alright.

*

Robbe was exhausted as he pushed open the door to his flat. Liv had kept him late, trying to get an ad just right for a very demanding client. He hadn’t even had time to get dinner, and Sander’s texts had gone unanswered again. He wondered if Jens always texted right back, if that was too desperate.

Inside the flat, Robbe was met with the sounds of exploding cars, and he rolled his eyes as he set his keys on the table. Behind the couch, the TV was on one of those movies, but Jens didn’t appear to be watching. In fact, he seemed occupied with Lucas in his lap, Lucas’ hands on the back of his head, and Robbe looked away before he had to see anything he’d regret.

“So this is why you like those movies,” he said over the noise of the TV, watching Lucas jerk back with a curse, wiping at his mouth as though he hadn’t just had his tongue in Jens’ mouth. “You don’t actually _watch_ them. I get it now.”

Jens took a deep breath as Lucas slid off his lap and onto the couch, looking far less embarrassed than Lucas did.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he asked, and Robbe rolled his eyes again.

“I live here.”

“I thought you’d be out with Sander,” Jens said, as though that was any excuse for the way he’d been feeling up Lucas in the middle of the living room. He did have his own bedroom.

Jens didn’t say it in an accusatory tone, though Robbe did wonder how much Jens still thought Robbe was going to do something stupid and ruin it.

“I had to work late,” he said, which wasn’t technically a lie. He also hadn’t answered Sander when he’d asked what he was doing tonight.

Lucas’ face was no longer red as he cleared his throat and glanced at Jens. “We were gonna order Chinese food, if you’re hungry.”

Robbe took them in on the couch for a second. Even discounting Lucas’ mussed shirt, the patches of pink on the back of his neck still visible, they looked like they fit together. Jens had an arm draped over the back of the couch, the other resting casually on Lucas’ thigh. Jens might not have admitted it to Lucas, or even himself, but Robbe could tell there was something real there.

“No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “You guys enjoy. I’m gonna go just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, waving in the direction of his room.

He knew Jens was watching as he left, shutting the door behind him. Was he ever going to have that? Casual hanging around, getting caught making out on the couch, ordering Chinese food because they just didn’t want to leave their happy bubble? If he could stick to being cool, maybe he and Sander could have that, Robbe told himself firmly. Guys liked people who were chill. He just had to be chill.

The only problem was, he really didn’t want to.

He wanted to text Sander back every time. He wanted to see him every day, have breakfast on the balcony, sex in the shower, stay up late to watch whatever movie Sander thought he needed to see, even go to all his matches and sit in the stands even though he understood nothing of the game. He wanted to do all that, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to scare Sander away, and he surely would. So Robbe sunk onto his bed with a sigh. He just had to be cool.

*

Being cool sucked, Robbe decided. He hadn’t seen Sander in three days, and Sander hadn’t texted him since the morning after their last date.

Robbe couldn’t help checking his phone all day, even though there was nothing new. He’d even resorted to stalking Sander’s Instagram, but aside from a promo photo, there was nothing.

Was this supposed to be what it was like? An agonizing wait until they could see each other again? Some imaginary rule about how long to wait before texting back?

Sitting in the cafe, Robbe couldn’t help checking again, but there were no new messages aside from the one from Jens saying he’d be late.

Outside, rain drizzled down the window pane, gathering in puddles on the street as cars splashed by. Turning away, Robbe was relieved to see Jens coming towards him.

“Hey, sorry,” he said as he sat down and pulled off his jacket and slung it over the chair. “Work drama.”

“It’s fine,” Robbe said, shaking his head.

“God, I’m starving,” Jens said, picking up the menu and perusing the options. “Ooh, fries.”

Robbe didn’t bother rolling his eyes. Jens glanced up at him after a second.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ve just been acting kinda weird lately,” Jens said, and Robbe frowned.

“No, I haven’t.”

Jens didn’t argue, but the look he gave Robbe said he clearly did not believe him.

“What?” Robbe demanded, and Jens shrugged, setting the menu down and reaching for his water glass.

“How are things with Sander?”

“I haven’t done anything stupid, if that’s what you’re asking,” Robbe said, straightening his fork.

“But you’re still seeing him?” Jens asked. “You haven’t said anything lately.”

Robbe shot him a look. “Last time we talked about him, you basically said that I came on way too strong and was going to scare him off.”

To his surprise, Jens grimaced. “Yeah, look, I didn’t mean to say it that way. I was just trying to make sure you didn’t get hurt again.”

Robbe could understand that, but he hadn’t had to be so honest about it. “You’re not wrong,” he muttered finally, and Jens’ eyebrows went up.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Robbe said warningly, pointing a finger at Jens. He sighed, though. “I’m worried I built Sander up in my head and I don’t want to scare him off.”

“You won’t,” Jens assured him, but Robbe shot him a look.

“That’s not what you said.”

Jens sighed. “I don’t know Sander. Maybe he is that one guy who won’t freak out.”

Groaning, Robbe pressed his hands to his face. “Now you decide that.”

Jens paused as Robbe sighed at the window pane, the dreary sky outside grey enough to match his mood.

“Why? What happened?”

Robbe wasn’t sure he should even tell Jens, even though he desperate to talk to someone about Sander, about what he was supposed to do, how to date like a normal person without coming on too strong or accidentally blurting out “I love you” in the middle of sex or over coffee. He needed help, though, and Jens might have been the only person who could help him right now.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said finally with a helpless shrug. “You know, less clingy.”

“Okay,” Jens said, sound agreeable so far.

“Well, I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” Robbe admitted, feeling stupid that he even had to say it. “It’s so easy for you. You don’t even think about when you’re supposed to text back, how often you’re supposed to see him, if you’re going too fast.”

For a second, Jens didn’t reply, frowning slightly.

“I do,” he admitted, and Robbe looked up, confused.

“You do what?”

“I do think about that shit,” Jens said simply. “You think I haven’t been thinking about that these past few weeks with Luc?”

Robbe had sort of assumed Jens was just magically good at dating, that he had all the answers Robbe didn’t have.

“You have?”

Jens shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah. After you accused me of being afraid of my feelings, it was all I could think about.”

It was Robbe’s turn to feel bad as he frowned. “I’m sorry I said that. I was just mad.”

“It’s okay.” Jens shook his head, shifting in his chair as rain hit the window pane and Robbe’s lunch hour ticked by. “So what’s the problem with Sander?”

For the first time, Robbe was sure Jens meant that sincerely rather than accusatory. 

Fiddling with his napkin, Robbe sat back in his chair. “He went to some benefit last week and his ex was there. And she’s beautiful, a _model_. He said it’s been over for a while, but I just kept thinking about how I don’t really know Sander that well, and maybe I did go too fast.”

Jens looked impressed as his eyebrows went up. “Wow.”

Rolling his eyes, Robbe sighed. “But now I don’t know how I’m supposed to be. I haven’t texted him in three days.”

“You haven’t?” Jens asked, sounding concerned now, and Robbe looked up.

“Is that bad?”

Jens hesitated. “Well, when did he text you last?”

“Two days ago.”

Jens’ grimace made Robbe’s heart sink. Could he do nothing right?

“There’s a fine line between being chill and blowing him off,” Jens said carefully. “Especially after you spent so much time together at first.”

“Oh God,” Robbe moaned into his hands. He’d ruined it. Sander probably thought Robbe didn’t like him at all. How could he be so bad at this?

“All hope’s not lost,” Jens assured him. “Just text him. Text him right now.”

“What do I say?” Robbe asked, already pulling out his phone and looking up at Jens plaintively. He needed all the help he could get.

“Be casual,” Jens said simply. “Like, want to get together later? And see what he says.”

“Okay, okay,” Robbe muttered as he typed. He just hoped he hadn’t screwed up so completely that Sander had given up. He wasn’t sure his heart could handle that, and as he hit send, he couldn’t help praying everything he’d thought he knew about Sander was right.

*

Robbe could admit how pathetic it was as he sat on the couch, watching highlights of the day’s match on his laptop, just for a glimpse of Sander’s white-blond hair, the way he pumped his fist when he made a goal, enveloped one of the other players in a tight hug.

His phone was resolutely silent despite the message Robbe had sent yesterday, and Robbe knew what that meant. 

“Nothing yet?” Jens asked over his shoulder, leaning over the back of the couch to watch the clip of Sander jogging down the field.

Robbe sighed, closing the laptop. “Nothing.”

He was pretty sure he’d ruined it with Sander. He’d come on too strong then pulled back too fast, and now Sander probably thought he was a complete jerk or an idiot. Or both.

“He did have a match,” Jens said, hopping over the back of the couch and sliding down beside Robbe. “Maybe he was just busy.”

It was a grasp in the dark and they both knew it, and Robbe didn’t bother responding. It seemed no matter what he did, he couldn’t make it work with a guy.

“Luc’s gonna be here in a minute,” Jens went on. “Maybe he knows something.”

Glancing at Jens, Robbe paused. “How are things with Lucas?”

Jens shrugged. “Good.” He looked away from Robbe for a second, inspecting his jeans as he brushed off invisible dirt. “He gave me a key to his flat the other day.”

Robbe couldn’t help the way his eyebrows rose in surprise, both at the way Jens muttered it as though it was admitting something secret and the fact that it had happened at all.

“Wait, Lucas has his own flat but I have to walk in on you making out here all the time?” he asked, only half-teasing as Jens shrugged, and Robbe was even more surprised by the flush creeping up the back of Jens’ neck.

“He says he likes it here better,” Jens said. “Where it’s not so quiet.” He paused, glancing at Robbe after a second and smiling. “I think he likes you.”

Robbe actually laughed. “I think he likes _you_.”

Jens shrugged, but the flush was still there, and Robbe didn’t push it. It was obvious enough, and he couldn’t help smiling at the thought that Jens had finally found someone.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Jens said as the knock came on the door. “He doesn’t need to know about this.”

“Of course,” Robbe said, still grinning, but he tried to tamp it down as Jens opened the door and greeted Lucas with an easy kiss.

“Hey,” Lucas greeted him as he sat down on the other end of the couch and Jens squished in beside him without so much as a warning.

“We have a question,” Jens said when Robbe hesitated. He didn’t really even know what to ask Lucas, or if he even should.

“Hmm?” Lucas hummed as Jens’ fingers brushed through his hair.

“Has Sander said anything to you? About Robbe?”

Lucas’ content expression shifted at the question, eyes darting to Robbe. “Why?”

Robbe sighed. “He hasn’t texted me back in a few days.”

Lucas paused, looking hesitant as he glanced at Jens and then Robbe. “The way I hear it, you’re the one who stopped responding.”

Robbe knew it. He’d fucked it up.

“Robbe just, uh—”

“No,” Robbe interrupted Jens with a sigh. He didn’t need Jens to explain for him. “It’s my problem. Luc, do you think there’s a chance he’d forgive me?”

The face Lucas made wasn’t reassuring and Robbe felt his heart sinking into his stomach.

“I don’t know,” Lucas admitted. “Sander’s a complicated guy. But if you like him, you should try.”

Lucas didn’t say anything else as Jens squished his cheeks together.

“You’re so smart.”

“Someone has to be,” Lucas replied, and Robbe looked away, not bothering to roll his eyes. Lucas was probably right. He had to at least try before he accepted his inevitable life of failed romances and disappointing break-ups. He knew Sander was different than all the others and he wasn’t going to let him slip away. Not this time.

*

Sander still hadn’t responded to his text, which was why Robbe found himself outside the door to his flat, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door.

He’d been so determined on the way over, but now that he stood mere feet from Sander, he couldn’t help wondering if he was making a huge mistake. What if Sander didn’t even want to see him? What if Sander had already decided Robbe was too much of an idiot to go on dating?

Shaking the doubts from his mind, Robbe forced himself to knock, standing back and waiting.

It seemed to take forever as Robbe stood there, swinging his hands nervously at his sides, jerking up straight when the door finally opened and Sander stood there, barefoot in his jeans.

He blinked, surprised, as he took in Robbe. “Robbe.”

“Hi,” Robbe said as they stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hi,” Sander said after a minute, and Robbe bit his lip.

“Can I come in?” he asked when Sander didn’t move.

Sander opened his mouth, but in the end, he didn’t say anything as he opened the door wider and walked away into the living room. Robbe followed, shutting the door softly behind him.

Sander stopped by the couch, a hand on the back as he paused, not looking at Robbe but frowning at the hardwood.

“What is it?” he asked finally, not meeting Robbe’s gaze.

Robbe didn’t really know where to start, how to explain his thought process in the last week, what he’d even been thinking.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you,” he said, and Sander sighed.

“This isn’t about you not texting me,” he said, lifting his gaze finally. “If you want to break up, just say so.”

“No!” Robbe said, too quickly, too loudly, taking a step toward Sander. “I don’t.”

“Then I’m confused,” Sander said, eyebrows furrowed, shrugging. “I thought things were going really well. I told you things that I don’t tell other people. And then when you ghosted me, I thought maybe I did something wrong.”

“No,” Robbe assured him, kicking himself. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sander shot him a look. “You weren’t upset that I spent the night with my ex at a benefit I didn’t invite you to?”

“Well,” Robbe admitted, but he shook his head. “Yeah, but that was the point. We barely knew each other. You didn’t have to invite me to those things and it wasn’t my business if your ex happened to be there. And I thought maybe I was being too clingy.”

“Too clingy?” Sander repeated, a questioning raise to his eyebrow, and Robbe sighed.

“It’s what I always do,” he said, rolling his eyes at himself. “I meet a guy and I jump in head-first, and usually, it scares him off. I didn’t want to do that. I… I really like you and I didn’t want you to get tired of me or annoyed or whatever else makes everyone run away.”

Sander didn’t reply for a moment, tapping the couch with his finger. “Did I give that impression?”

Robbe shook his head. “It was just when I saw you with your ex, I realized how much I’d built up our relationship in my head.”

Sander looked away, and Robbe cursed to himself. The last thing he wanted was for Sander to think he didn’t care, that he was one of those jerks who didn’t text or call, like all those guys who’d run out on Robbe. He’d just been so scared that this would happen that he’d accidentally made it happen on his own. How was that for irony?

“You know,” Sander said after a minute, leaning back against the couch now, arms crossed, looking tired as he gazed at Robbe. “I always feel like the people around me want me to be a certain way. My agent says I have to bleach my hair or my fans won’t recognize me. People expect a fancy flat with expensive wine when they come over. I have to go to benefits for charities I’ve never even heard of because someone sponsors the team. I have to let Britt hang off me so the media can get a shot and speculate about our relationship because it’s good press even though when we dated, it was an absolute mess. She only cared that I made her look good.” He sighed, dropping his arms, and Robbe wanted so desperately to take him in his arms, to wipe that sad look off his face, but he couldn’t. Not yet. “Then I met you and you didn’t care about any of that. I felt like I could talk to you about all the stupid things I can’t tell anyone else.”

Robbe’s heart skipped a beat as Sander spoke, like his insides were melting, and he took the chance to step up to Sander, nervous as he swallowed.

“You can talk to me, about anything,” he said slowly. “I was just trying to be cool. Like how normal people are when they date, but apparently I’m bad at that too.”

“I liked how you were before,” Sander said, lifting his gaze to Robbe’s, and Robbe smiled.

“Not chill?”

“Yourself,” Sander said simply, and Robbe felt his chest swelling with hope and happiness as Sander gazed at him.

“I’m sorry I was such an idiot,” he said, glad when Sander pushed off the couch to meet him. “I want to be with you. I want to know everything. I want to text you every time I see something cool or funny or stupid. I just want to know you’re there.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sander said after a minute, reaching for Robbe’s hair, a hand firm on the back of his neck as Robbe’s smile grew. “Unless you are.”

“Definitely not,” Robbe assured him, rising up on his toes to kiss Sander, arms sliding around his shoulders as they stood there in Sander’s cavernous living room and all the puzzle pieces fell into place for the first time since Robbe could remember.

*

**Epilogue**

“I can’t believe you’re giving up your amazing flat to move into this one,” Jens told Sander as he hefted a box into his arms.

Sander shrugged, an arm comfortable around Robbe’s shoulders, watching Jens struggle with the box. “It’s cozy.”

“It’s a shit hole,” Jens only said, glancing over his shoulder as Lucas emerged from his bedroom. “Is that the last box?”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, setting it on the couch with a sigh. “How do you have so many hoodies?”

“You like my hoodies,” Jens pointed out as Lucas rolled his eyes. “And now they’ll all be at your place.”

“Our place,” Lucas corrected him with grin, and Jens laughed.

“Our place.”

Robbe glanced up at Sander, who was smiling at the exchange. As sad as he was to see Jens move out, he was excited to have Sander move in. He couldn’t wait to have Sander around all the time, as if they didn’t see each other every day as it was. This was different, though. This was official, and it warmed his heart.

“We should go,” Lucas said, grabbing the box again and nudging Jens with his hip. “We have to return the van by noon.”

Sighing, Jens turned to Robbe and Sander. “You’ll have to entertain yourselves now,” he said seriously. “And I don’t want to hear that you spend all your time watching boring artsy films.”

“I think we can find other things to do,” Sander said, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s temple, and Jens shook his head.

“At least I won’t have to hear about your sex life anymore.”

“You’re one to talk,” Robbe retorted, but before Jens could respond, Lucas was there, nudging Jens forward.

“Come on. The faster we get these to the flat, the sooner we can celebrate.”

Jens looked as if he was debating between responding to Robbe and just following Lucas. In the end, he shrugged, going after Lucas and pausing at the door.

“Be good, you two,” he said simply, and Robbe smiled to himself as Jens left.

“You’ll still see him,” Sander assured Robbe as they turned from the door. “I see Luc every day.”

“I know,” Robbe said, tilting his chin to smile at Sander. He would miss Jens, but he was ready for this new chapter with Sander. “So, how are we going to celebrate you moving in?”

Sander paused thoughtfully, carding his fingers through Robbe’s hair, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, the corner of his mouth, underneath his ear as Robbe’s eyes drifted closed. “I don’t know,” he murmured, a kiss brushed over his jaw, and Robbe smiled.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” he said as Sander’s lips met his own. They’d figure it out, just like they’d figured out everything else.

*

FIN.


End file.
